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  He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and show her how much he wanted her with his mouth and his hands and his cock deep inside her. But he’d promised to give her twelve days, and so he had to use his words. He struggled with expressing himself through anything but what he made with his hands. It would be so much better if he could make love to her and show her all the reasons he was drawn to her. “I want you because of the way you make me feel.”

  She was silent for too long. And tears coated her eyes. It simultaneously made him want to find a sketch pad and make something with hurricane glass sparkle and shine in the right light and drag her body against his. He settled for grabbing her face. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “I make you feel something.”

  Fuck. Just by walking through his door, she made him feel everything. But it would terrify her to hear that from him, and she probably wouldn’t even believe him. This wasn’t like him at all, and he shouldn’t be telling her any of this. If he just wanted to have sex with her, then he wouldn’t be talking about feelings. But they’d crossed the threshold between just sex and feelings a few miles back. When he was working, he rarely thought about eating, much less how much he wanted to fuck.

  Somehow, her quiet optimism and refusal to back down when he’d tried to send her away, her transparent emotions stirred him up and turned his world upside down. And, strangely, he didn’t hate it. He wanted to bathe in it.

  “Yes.” He hoped he’d given her enough. “I just want you.”

  She tried to shake her head, but his hold on her jaw kept her in place.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “No.” A tear coated one of her bottom lashes, threatening to fall. He’d tear shit off walls if that tear fell and he caused it. “I just don’t know why anyone like you would want someone like me.”

  “You just don’t see what I see.”

  “My eyes are pretty good.”

  “Mine are better.”

  “You don’t just want me because I said no?”

  “I want you because you can say no to me.”

  “Isn’t that the same thing?”

  Now would be the time to give her some of his story, tell her about his family. But he didn’t want to lay his brokenness on top of hers. Even if they did get together, he still didn’t believe that his grandmother was right—that he could have the kind of love that his sister had found. But he still wanted to make sure she saw what he saw. “Not by a long shot.”

  She moved to step back, and he released her, despite his desire to touch her always. “I didn’t think you were a sexual harasser. Like him.”

  “You didn’t?” That was one, small bit of relief. He was still glad he’d apologized because they wouldn’t have had it out; he wouldn’t know for sure that their liking each other was mutual. “Then, why did you recoil?”

  “I was afraid that this was going to turn out like the last time.” She smiled at him, and it was as though the sun broke out inside. “I was afraid that I’m too weak to resist you. After Simon, I felt like I couldn’t trust myself.”

  Fucking Simon. If he were a macho bag of dicks, he’d hunt down Simon and have a few words with him—words that would leave the guy bruised and embarrassed. But, he didn’t do things like that, things his father would approve of. He put his anger into his art or kept it to himself.

  “You can wait for me?” She was asking like she was worried that he’d lose interest before then.

  “If I have to.”

  “But you’re hoping you don’t have to?” Thank fuck the tears were gone and her gaze was filled with mischief. “You’re hoping I give in while I’m still working for you?”

  Of course, he was, but he wasn’t going to give her more reason not to trust herself. “If you put your hands on me, it’s on.”

  “But we’ll still keep this between us?”

  He sobered a little bit. “What happens between the two of us stays between the two of us.” He grabbed her hand again, needing the contact. Hand-holding shouldn’t be out of the question for them. They could call it a hand shake. “I promise.”

  She stepped closer to him. “But maybe we should seal it with a kiss?”

  Even better. He didn’t give her time to take it back but pulled her up against his body. They both made a soft, groaning noise as their parts lined up, her breasts pressed against his upper belly and his dick nestled against the top of her jeans.

  If this was going to be the last kiss he’d get from her for over a week, he needed to touch her skin. He burrowed his hands under the back of her T-shirt and grunted at how soft she was. And warm, she’d set him on fire once he had access to every inch of her flesh.

  She pressed up on tiptoe, dragging across his erection in her journey to give him her mouth. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been the aggressive push of her mouth against his. So glad that her spunk extended to the way she kissed him, he gave her just what she had giving him—lips, teeth, and, after a moment of hesitation, tongue.

  Her breathy moan told him that she hadn’t been expecting a full-on make-out session, but the way she clawed at his shoulders told him it wasn’t a bad surprise.

  He had no idea how long he kissed her or how his fingers made their way to the clasp of her bra. Lost in her soft skin and lush mouth, they could have been standing there for hours. She writhed against him and made his dick even harder, so hard he’d have to seek medical attention if he kept kissing her.

  When he tried to pull back so he could cup her perfect tits, she clawed him back and it made him even hotter for her. He could only wedge a hand between their bodies and fondle one breast. It made her push herself even closer, so he had no choice but to wedge his thigh between her legs. Taking his cue, she pressed her pussy—the thing he’d give up a year of his life to touch bare—against him. As she pushed and pulled he found her nipple; played with it until she moaned against his lips.

  The need to make her come nearly overrode his commitment to keeping his promise. They would keep this separate from work, no matter how good it was. He respected her even if he wanted to ride the hot pussy she was getting off on his thigh.

  He pulled his mouth away from hers to travel to her neck. “Do you want to come, precious girl?”

  She was soft everywhere. He was so fucked. “Yes. Yes.”

  “Can you do it without me touching you there?” If he had to use his fingers, God help him, he would probably die.

  But she made a frustrated noise when he tweaked her nipple again. He’d give his girl whatever she needed, so he took his hand off her breast and undid her jeans. God, he wanted all her clothes off and Letty spread out on his bed. This would have to do for now, though.

  She jumped when he touched her clit and took her mouth again at the same time. Every sound she made was like a stroke on his dick. He worshipped her responsiveness, was so gone on her. The fact that she came apart with a few strokes against her clit filled him with pride. The moment when she shook and pressed her teeth into her lower lip to stop from screaming would imprint on his memory for years, maybe decades. He would definitely touch his dick thinking of that moment, and only that moment for the next twelve days.

  “Better?” Her eyelids, which had drooped when she was coming, fluttered open now. Her skin had a perfect flush that made him wish he painted. The different colors of this woman’s flush could be a whole gallery show. So beautiful.

  “That was some kiss.”

  “Had to get us through the next twelve days.”

  “But you didn’t even come.”

  Before she could move toward his hair-trigger dick, he reached around her body and righted her bra. He did up her jeans and grabbed her hands. Because she couldn’t put so much as a finger on his bare cock, or he’d never survive it.

  “Don’t worry, precious girl, I’ll come plenty thinking abo
ut that.”

  Chapter 7

  Letty and her sister Elena got pedicures together every two weeks when they were both in Miami. Given her druthers, Letty wouldn’t do anything with her nails, but Elena was fastidious about every aspect of personal grooming. Her size zero—with boobs—sister had every reason to be. The previous year, she’d been on the cover of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. Ever since then, their nail dates had stretched out further and further. But hanging out with Elena was never awkward after she came back from Paris or Milan.

  Except for today.

  “Let me get this straight, you humped his leg?” Elena’s question was so loud that it elicited giggles from a couple of teenagers at the end of the row.

  “Jesus, Elena.” Letty’s voice was more a hiss. “Can you keep it down?”

  “But you humped a guy’s leg. This is too funny to be quiet about.”

  “It’s actually embarrassing.” Letty’s toes were blushing. The skin was the same color as the nail polish the manicurist was valiantly trying to apply despite a fit of giggles. “I shouldn’t have told you anything.”

  “This is not the kind of thing you keep from your sister.” Elena was right, even though she could never understand Letty’s actions three days ago. “You need to tell me about extreme frustration sooner, so we can go trolling for dick.”

  “When have you ever trolled for dick?” Her sister probably had a coterie of rich, fuck-hot, single men in every city. It was impossible to spend any time with her without noticing how men looked at her. In fact, there was a dude just standing in the window right then, eating a gelato and staring at Elena getting her heels buffed.

  “You’d be surprised.” She smiled and gave the guy a one-finger salute, which seemed to shock him because he ambled away.

  “This is not that.” Letty looked down to her lap, unable to forget the sensation of Max’s hand there, driving her to orgasm. “He told me that he thinks I’m beautiful.”

  Elena just shrugged. “That’s because you are beautiful.”

  “No, you’re beautiful.”

  “And you look just like me. Ergo, you are beautiful.” At least her sister didn’t deny it. Letty found it annoying when gorgeous people pretended that they weren’t gorgeous.

  “Plus, about seventy pounds.”

  “You know, plus-size models are the largest growing portion of the market.”

  Letty snorted. “Right. The largest portion.”

  Elena shifted in her chair so she faced Letty, completely serious. “You have to get Diana out of your head.” Even though she was the favorite daughter, Elena had exactly no fucks to give about what their mother thought. She’d gotten into modelling initially to please their parents, but as her career had grown, so had her confidence. And now, she had enough money that she could tell their parents exactly what she thought of them and call them by their first names without them making a peep about it.

  Letty, on the other hand, had never shaken her people-pleasing tendencies. Their mother had harped on Letty so much about her diet that she’d developed a complex about it that she couldn’t shake. She knew she looked—fine. And a million Instagram accounts celebrating body positivity or body diversity couldn’t get through the wall in Letty’s brain telling her she was less attractive or capable than her sister because she weighed more than her.

  Even Max, who’d tried to get through had made her cry. And then hump his leg. “I humped his leg, Elena. Positive affirmations are not going to make this any less humiliating.”

  “He’s super-hot, though.” A pang of jealousy hit Letty in the gut. Elena would never go after a guy she was interested in, but the idea of Max even meeting Elena made her a little sick. Elena was just like Letty, but better in almost every way. There was the model thing, plus she’d gotten into every college she’d applied to. While she was modelling in Paris, she’d somehow fit in enough classes at the Sorbonne to graduate. With honors.

  Letty had squeaked into NYU, probably due to a generous donation from her father, and done well there. But she was not a supermodel with a degree from the Sorbonne. If Max thought she was beautiful, Elena would strike him completely dumb.

  “Stop what you’re thinking.”

  “I’m not thinking anything.” Not unless her sister had completed a mind-reading course during fashion week.

  “Yes, you’re thinking that I’m going after your man.” She flipped a page in her Vanity Fair quite aggressively. “I’m honestly hurt about that. You know I would never do that you.”

  “I know. I just feel like he’s the only person who sees me. If he saw you, whatever he feels about me might disappear. You wouldn’t have to do anything.”

  “That’s just silly.”

  “It’s not.”

  Elena pursed her lips and wrinkled her face, in a sign of true love that would likely require a round of Botox to repair. “He thought you were a model when you showed up on the first day?”

  “Yep. Just assumed I’d take off all my clothes and sit there while he looked at me.” That kind of thing would be no big deal to Elena, but the idea of it still gave Letty the shakes.

  “My agent has asked me if you’d be interested in signing with her.”

  “She has?” It had to be a lie. “Why have you never told me before?”

  “Because you’re way too shy to model for magazines. They adjust my thong for me.”

  Letty laughed. Her sister knew her well enough to know that Letty couldn’t stand being under hot lights and faking sexy for cameras. Letty didn’t really fake sexy—or do sexy at all. “I can’t even have sex with the lights on.”

  “Most of the time, I have the lights off, too.” Her sister chuckled. “Guys are so weird-looking when they come. Totally ruins my vibe.”

  They fell silent and Elena grabbed her hand and squeezed.

  “I love you.” Her sister’s “I love you” had been the only one ever without conditions attached. She basked in that feeling until her sister said, “You should model for him.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “It would be sexy.”

  “And mortifying.”

  “No, it wouldn’t.” Letty felt Elena line up her sights again. “He didn’t laugh when you humped his leg. He looks at you and likes what he sees. And he apologized for trying to kiss you. He’s definitely not a creeper.”

  “Definitely not a creeper,” Letty agreed. Max had been a little surly at first, and he had tried to kiss her. But nothing he’d done since made her feel uncomfortable.

  In the three days since they’d kissed, things had been shockingly normal. He’d even been sort of friendly. His shift in attitude had thrown her for a loop. After what they’d done, she’d gotten sweaty and wet as soon as she’d entered the studio space the next day. The impression of his hand against her breast lingered in her sense memory, and she’d caught herself touching where his hands had been while making dinner the previous night. Her fingers twitched with the urge to do so now, even in public.

  And, when she’d gone to bed the night it happened, she couldn’t resist touching herself. A whisper of his breath on her neck and the way she’d wanted to keep kissing him even though she couldn’t breathe from him consuming her mouth had brought her to a painfully pleasurable orgasm.

  “You’re thinking about the leg humping again.”

  “No, the kissing.”

  “So romantic.” Her sister clapped her hands together and pouted. “You should model for him. I think it will help your confidence so you can have sex with him when you’re done with the job.”

  Her sister was a genius, so maybe she had a point.

  * * * *

  Only three days left, and Max hadn’t even rubbed all the skin off his dick yet. He’d consider that a win if he didn’t have to survive 72 hours with human Viagra in his sights and in his studio. He
’d been grateful when she took a morning off four days ago to hang out with her sister. Everything about her had become like a beacon for his hard-on since he’d touched her.

  But, as his frustration built, he channeled it into getting work done. Other than masturbating, he’d spent more time bending metals in the past few days than he had doing anything else—including sleeping. Turns out that the combustible need for his erstwhile assistant drove him more than his anger at his father ever had.

  He’d taken up sculpting at the urging of the therapist he’d been forced to see after getting into one too many fights at prep school. His father’s methods of committing warfare against his family were more verbal than physical. Open hands and fists were how he’d controlled him and Joaquin when he couldn’t pummel them with words.

  Max’s method for venting his spleen had always been physical. And sports had just made it worse. Even though he hadn’t told the therapist about how bad his family life was, she must have gleaned something about how everything in his life felt totally out of control. She’d suggested he try metal shop at school. When he’d taken to it, she’d given him the information of a sculptor who worked with metal. She’d seen his drawings and thought he might like to see a working shop.

  The therapist was right. When Max got metal heated just right, a calm came over him. As though by bending metal, he could bend the world.

  Right now, it was the only thing that kept him from having a hard-on that could crush concrete.

  Until Letty walked in. With food. She looked him up and down. “You haven’t changed your clothes.”

  Because he hadn’t done anything but work since she’d left the day before. He took the box from The Salty Donut from her and set them on the only clean table. “I didn’t change them.”

  “Are you behind schedule?” Was he a sick fuck to like the way her brow creased in concern? He wanted to hold her and reassure her, and it made him want to take better care of himself if only to please her. She had no idea how much he wanted to please her. Otherwise, she’d be blushing from head to toe on a pretty much constant basis. He couldn’t wait until he could tell her how much he wanted to consume her. “Did you ever find a model?”